Well then,
Just a measure of solace is nice. Sometimes silence can really reset you. Purge your nerves.
Just one day at a time.
One day at a time to stop being a fuck up.
Just a measure of solace is nice. Sometimes silence can really reset you. Purge your nerves.
Just one day at a time.
One day at a time to stop being a fuck up.
Will never happen again.
Direction is needed but seldom found, for it is made in the forges of wanton.
I want to be remade… How do I go about remaking myself? A new study is to be done, I will redefine my own boundaries.
I am the change in myself, I am the change in my reality. I will subjugate this reality to my ministrations.
I can do this.
Sometimes I can feel myself being cut. Torn. It makes my stomach turn. My eyes un-focus, and my breathing gets ragged.
Pretty sure that’s nothing, though.
I always knew Scarlett Johansson’s nudes would find their way to my dash.
Dat ass.
(Source: pale-blood, via slaykob)
But I want to find a zest for life. Sometimes I see people enjoying their moments so, and seem to truly cherish them.
I systematically analyze the passing moments, relating them to previous moments. Change is detectable, but the change itself is minor and unnecessary. When only minor, impossibly small minutiae are the only changes you notice in the time around you, it does a lot to exhaust you mentally.
These passing dictations and comparing to of recent time lend to a feeling of helplessness. That your influence leaves no lasting marks upon the world. That it wouldn’t have been different if you weren’t there.
I suppose what I’m getting to is that realizing your sheer meaningless existence is a weight and a freedom. It’s a weight because you realize that the unlikelihood of forcing fate, of being remembered is so insignificantly small that why should one even try it?
The freedom comes from realizing nothing really matters. Only the matters you yourself believe matters, matter.
This intense introspection is something I’ve been mulling over all day. If you don’t hear from me for a few days, fear not. It’s not suicide. It’s not a negative thing. It’s just me being gone, seeing how reclusivity feels.
Why do I feel like this?
Love when women talk this way.
(Source: offensivetextslut, via loxyclean)
YES.
I tried to explain this to my religion teacher today.
Must reblog.
(Source: dicksantorum-2012, via loxyclean)
I’m thinking about eventually starting up a paramilitary company to take advantage of all the strife and instabilities of notably Africa and the Middle East.
What do you all think of this?
I’ve accrued seven followers.
This is neat.
Depression is like this, when you’re winning…
You’re sitting in a room with the blinds open, and sunlight is streaming in. Besides the blinds sits an older man, grizzled and silent. He holds a gun, and has his hand on the pull-tab for the blinds.
He can shut it at any time, and you know he’s there.
Whiteness is nothing to be proud of. When you say you’re proud to be white this is what we PoC think of:
Things to be proud of:
- Your heritage
- but never whiteness
- because whiteness is a history of terrorism,islamphobia,cultural…
Wow… Seems like it’s time to oppress another race!
(Source: blck-grrl, via 0plus2equals1)